


I'll Be Waking Up (feeling satisfied but guilty as hell)

by WishingStar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Yeah that's right, who says you can't be queer in an ABO 'verse?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingStar/pseuds/WishingStar
Summary: "Dr. Kelley says I should be able to respond to an appropriate stimulus. Like if an omega actually gave me the time of day. I just don't get that preemptive drive to go out looking for them. And more to the point, I don't get territorial." They've reached their door. Steve unlocks it, steps through, and holds it open for Bucky. "Go ahead and clear out if it makes you uncomfortable. But there's no need."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks, that's it. I've hit a new low. Nowhere to go from here but the trash compactor. (If anybody sees me in the trash compactor after this, pull the plug on my internet router PLEASE.) Also I'm not actually sure if bond-bites to the back of the neck are an established thing, or if the first couple ABO fics I read just happened to be influenced by each other. They're a thing in this.
> 
> ADDITIONAL NOTE: Dubcon comes pretty standard in ABO 'verses, but this goes maybe a _little_ beyond the standard. I'm keeping it tagged as dubcon, not noncon, because to my mind, the objectionable aspects of noncon are a) seeing a character get traumatized and/or b) dealing with a character cruel enough to willfully ignore lack of consent. Neither of which happens in this fic. But YMMV.

"It shouldn't be a problem." Steve scowls, scuffing the pavement with his shoes as they walk home.

"Shouldn't be a problem?" Bucky doesn't bother hiding his skepticism. "Two alphas sharing territory while one's in rut is pretty much the definition of a problem. It's not even that. It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Not like I'll be bringing anyone home for you to get jealous over."

Bucky huffs. "It's not omegas I'm worried about, it's the territory. Steve, you pick fights on your best days. You want my stink in your nose, riling you up when you're at your worst?" This will be Steve's first rut since they moved in together. Bucky went back to his parents' when his own turn came, ousting Becca from his old room for two days and locking the door. Becca slept with the younger girls, though, and they love having their big sister to whisper with at night, so that was fine. He'll do the same thing for Steve's rut, let Steve claim the apartment as his own—but Steve, inexplicably, is arguing.

"I don't pick fights with you," Steve objects. Luckily he passes over the omega comment, which, Bucky reflects, wasn't the most considerate thing to say.

"I'd like to keep it that way, pal. Why're you arguing, anyway? You should want me gone." He asks it casually, because he's not prepared to own up to feeling a strange—well, _curiosity_ , he guesses, at the mental image of Steve in rut. Part of him wants to witness it. It's probably a perfectly normal urge, wanting to compare experiences, right? Same way omegas like to gossip about their heats. It's entirely possible that Steve's willing to let him stay for a similar reason, just to see what would happen, just _because_ it's practically taboo. Steve's a daredevil like that. But alphas don't _admit_ this kind of urge, so Bucky won't. Anyway, no amount of curiosity on either side will make it any less of a terrible idea.

"I just hate to put your family through the extra trouble," Steve mutters. "It's not that big a deal."

"Steve, my family understands. It's a part of life. It's necessary."

"It isn't, though. Not really." They've reached the stairs of their apartment building, and Steve pauses to kick a pebble across the bottom step. Bucky waits in silence, because a declaration like that's got to have a follow-up.

Steve looks at Bucky, purses his lips and shakes his head, and finally speaks. "I don't get true ruts. Something's—" he gestures up and down his own torso—"out of whack. Hormonally. Dr. Kelley says because I'm sick so much my body has to conserve resources." He starts ascending the stairs at a quick clip, passing Bucky with his head down again.

Bucky falls into step with him. "Wait, but you've _never_? You used to skip school same as the rest of us."

"Yeah, well, Ma kept hoping. I still have a cycle. It just consists of me getting slightly crankier than usual. I was too embarrassed to tell you sooner."

Bucky's struggling to absorb this information, especially given Steve's matter-of-fact presentation. And given Steve's self-professed desire to start a family one day. "Does this mean you can't have—"

"Dr. Kelley says I should be able to respond to _an appropriate stimulus_. Like if an omega actually gave me the time of day. I just don't get that preemptive drive to go out looking for them. And more to the point, I don't get territorial." They've reached their door. Steve unlocks it, steps through, and holds it open for Bucky. "Go ahead and clear out if it makes you uncomfortable. But there's no need."

It makes sense, as Bucky mulls it over. Steve's scent has always lacked the acrid, off-putting tang of most alphas, and instead contains a note of something sweeter. Not _omega_ -sweet, not by a long shot, but... sweet nonetheless. Bucky figured maybe it was because they're close, practically family, and Steve's earned himself some kind of variation on the non-threatening, _not-a-rival_ message Bucky gleans from the scents of his alpha relatives. But it's not quite that, either. Steve's pheromones being off for medical reasons, that would explain it neatly.

More importantly, Steve expects to keep his head, which means there's no way he'll be throwing off enough pheromones to make Bucky lose his. Worst case, things start getting strained and Bucky has to change his plans last-minute. At least then they'll _know._

"Okay, we'll give it a try. But if you start scenting up the place, I'm leaving."

Steve's worried expression makes no sense, until Bucky reviews his choice of words.

"Until your rut's over," he clarifies.

Steve nods. "I won't, but fair enough."

~*~

Steve can't give Bucky a day in advance, he says, because he's somewhat irregular. Anyway, he can't always tell the exact day it peaks, he says. So they go over a week without discussing it, and Bucky's thinking about a funny story one of the guys at the automat told him, not thinking about Steve's rut at all, on the night he opens the door to their walk-up and the smell hits him like a wave.

It's Steve, all right—rut-scent mingled with that sweet something Bucky can't pinpoint, other than to say it's definitively _Steve_ —and there's the man himself, half-drooped over the kitchen table yet wound tight as a wire, turning a coffee mug around in both hands like he can't figure out what to do with it.

"You said you didn't get real ruts." Bucky's mostly surprised, but the flush of adrenaline through his system makes it come out snappish. And working through the implications of the sharp musk on the back of his throat doesn't exactly inspire him to apologize. He'll have to leave after all, pack a bag and knock on his parents' door at this late hour, dammit Steve.

"I don't!" Steve thumps the coffee cup down and leaves Bucky's line of sight. Bucky follows, feeling his hackles rise at Steve's rudeness and—okay, Steve's alpha pheromones are affecting him. Stay calm. Not a rival. Yeah he's scented up Bucky's apartment, but he didn't do it on purpose, probably. Bucky hasn't even got a potential mate for a rival to threaten, so quit acting like it. He finds Steve in the living room, arms braced against the back of the couch, legs spread, every muscle tense. It's an oddly captivating sight.

"I don't know what set it off, okay? This has never happened before."

"Did you smell an omega in heat?" Bucky suggests. Perfectly rational, see? Dr. Kelley did mention that possibility.

"Been cooped up in here all day. Not so much as a whiff. You think I'm that stupid?" He glares at Bucky over his shoulder. Making a confrontation out of everything, as usual. Idiot.

Pheromones, right. Bucky should take a walk, cool down, and come back mentally prepared to grab a change of clothes and run. He doesn't want to do any such thing, of course; it's his goddamn apartment, he pays half the rent, he's not about to let a scrawny younger alpha kick him out, friend or no.

God _dammit_ , this is why he offered to leave days ago. They're already on the verge of a dangerous downward spiral—Steve channeling his frustration into aggression, Bucky registering _alpha challenge_ and digging in his heels, both of them trading angry scents. The rut pheromones don't help; against Bucky's better judgment, he's subconsciously half-convinced that mating is about to take place somewhere nearby, and he can feel his own hormones ramping up in response to the perceived opportunity. Which is a not-unreasonable physiological reaction even without an omega present, right? Sort of a free-association Pavlovian thing?

"Look, we both need to clear our heads. You take a walk, gimme fifteen minutes. I'll pack a bag and find somewhere else to sleep." It physically pains Bucky to say this, but he's not the one in rut. He can be the bigger person here, although they will have _words_ when this is over.

"Like hell I'm going anywhere," Steve spits back. "It's my apartment. I pay half the rent."

"Yeah? Whose name is on the lease?"

"You _invited_ me to live here, moron." Steve straightens to face him, chest heaving, though one hand keeps its death-grip on the back of the couch.

"Yes, I did, and I came home to find you stinking up the place after you said you wouldn't."

"If you can't handle that, you should've gone to your parents' like you offered."

"You're the one who told me it wouldn't matter!"

"I said clear out if you wanted to! And it wouldn't have mattered, except for your goddamn scent all over the bedroom and everything. I don't even know what it is—"

"You've known my scent for years!"

"—but it sure as hell ain't _normal_ alpha—"

"It ain't what, now?"

Bucky has stepped into Steve's space, looking down as Steve cranes his neck to look up. His fists ache from clenching so hard, and he never planned to use them on the little twerp in front of him, but Bucky has it on the authority of a dozen satisfied omegas that he smells as much like a real alpha as anyone and Steve is getting exactly one chance to _take that back._

Steve sticks his neck out to sniff deliberately at Bucky's collar, then draws back and narrows his eyes. "What the hell are you after?" he growls, and then makes a two-handed grab for Bucky's lapels.

Bucky blocks on instinct, grabbing Steve's wrists and twisting the left one until he doubles over. Steve lashes out with a foot, hooking Bucky's ankle and then slamming into his midriff. Bucky doesn't fall, because Steve couldn't strike high enough above his center of mass, but he staggers and releases Steve's wrists, and then Steve's on him with fists.

Bucky has been trying so, so hard to restrain himself—but now it's moved beyond that. Now he gets to teach this punk a lesson. _Finally._

They've fought before, but not in years. Not since Bucky shot up in height and their scuffles lost any semblance of fairness. They've roughhoused, laughing and showing off and Bucky holding back often as not. This is different. This is a pure, instinct-driven fight for dominance, and it won't end until one of them goes down for the count. Bucky has advantages in size and skill, but Steve fights like a bat out of hell. He throws a few uncoordinated punches, takes a few without slowing down, then abruptly closes the distance to claw at Bucky's face instead. Bucky flings him off and tackles him to the threadbare rug. Then they're grappling, and Bucky can really come into his own, because it don't matter that Steve bounces back like a rubber ball if he can't _move._ Bucky makes short work of it: Steve on his back with all Bucky's weight on him, Bucky's ankles locked around his knees. One arm clamped between Bucky's elbow and his side, the other pinned by the wrist and elbow and bent sideways just far enough that Steve grimaces from the strain.

Steve growls. He should yield now—Bucky can dislocate his arm at will, in this position—but Bucky doesn't mind waiting. He shifts and settles more comfortably, flushed with the triumph of putting a rival alpha in his place. It feels _good_. Steve squirms ineffectually, his erection digging into Bucky's hip. He still smells of arousal and aggression but also, increasingly, of supplication. Steve Rogers might cling to defiance long after the anger's drained away, but his body recognizes helplessness and signals _submission_ as a defense mechanism. Bucky knows better than to trust it, but it's _so good._ He leans in, sniffing around Steve's throat, nuzzling it to rub his nose into the pheromones, licking and scraping gently with his teeth—his own erection's filling out and Steve bucks his hips in a way that puts just the right kind of pressure—

Steve bites him. _Bites_ him, lunging in a half-sit-up to where Bucky's shifted his arm without realizing it, and clamping his teeth on Bucky's bicep near the elbow. It's through a shirt sleeve, but it stings plenty, and Bucky snarls and pulls away in shocked betrayal. Then they're at it again. Bucky keeps them on the floor, meaning to recreate his previous victory and twist Steve's arm _harder_ this time, but Steve wriggles away like a greased eel. Then he grabs two handfuls of Bucky's hair and yanks his head down to his knees, and Bucky flails blindly and without leverage and manages to hurl his whole body sideways, never mind the pain in his scalp, just in time to feel teeth graze and glance off the base of his skull.

His thoughts freeze in panic— _nobody touches him there_ , for an alpha it's the ultimate humiliation—but a fresh surge of adrenaline has him lashing out on pure instinct, heedless of scratches or kicks or elbows in return, snarling madly until he's on top again, with Steve face-down this time, and doesn't even bother trying to pin—just wraps arms and legs around him like a python and bites down hard on the back of Steve's neck.

Steve gives a yelp that's almost like a scream.

Bucky clings like a bulldog, tasting blood—iron and salt and the same rut pheromones that permeate the air, but stronger. Then a sudden rush of that sweet note, amplified ten times, a hundred, a thousand, cloying enough that Bucky might release his hold if it weren't mixed with the same supplication he'd tasted earlier, likewise amplified, leaving him dizzy and desperate for more.

Steve is whimpering, scrabbling at Bucky's thigh—the only part he can reach—but without his former urgency. Still moving, but slower. More smoothly. He arches his back, rubbing against Bucky, and Bucky is aware in a very faint, muzzy way of grinding against him in return, chasing the pressure of Steve's bony backside against his groin. Steve whimpers again and curves the other way, into the floor, and then back like he can't make up his mind. And it's not instinct, Bucky _knows_ what he's doing, but somehow consequence and implication seem a world away, and the only remotely sensible action is to slide a hand beneath Steve's waistband and give Steve something to thrust into. Steve gasps, stretching his neck to its fullest extent, and gradually his writhing falls into Bucky's rhythm, both of them thrusting together. Bucky licks the bite and postpones panicking until it's over.

Even after they've stilled, Steve gone boneless in Bucky's arms, the distress takes its time in coming. Steve will be livid, Steve will _murder_ him, but right now Steve's got Bucky's hand clasped to his chest like he wants to be held, like Bucky's done something right, like Steve is _his_.

**Author's Note:**

> Mayyybe epilogue, if there's interest? I do kind of hate to leave them like this.
> 
> ETA: Haha, okay, point taken. (You guys are great. Thanks.) Now I just have to actually write it...


End file.
